Page 11 of Fire and Smoke (Nothing Special #9)

Lawson (Law) Sheppard

Law sat in his Explorer at one in the morning, just long enough for the silence to feel accusatory.

He’d said too much earlier…and not done enough.

He threw a couple of gadgets in his jacket pockets, cut the engine, and got out.

His conscience was pressing and heavy on him, judging.

Barham Park was dark and empty, the perfect place to go to release pent-up tension and anger.

He stood a few yards away, watching as Wes lit a fuse with his Zippo, the rope quickly sizzling toward the large dumpster.

A burst of fire roared upward, making Law duck out of reflex, as twelve-foot flames illuminated the night sky.

“Jesus, Wes…”

The dumpster was engulfed in a column of fire, twisting oranges with flashes of teal and purple colors that didn’t exist in a natural flame.

Only Wes could make such destruction look like a goddamn live Picasso.

Wes walked away from the blast without a backward glance, like a man leaving behind a confession booth full of rage. Head down. Shoulders tense.

Wes still didn’t see Law as he crouched near the curb with his phone propped against a rusty lamp pole, rewatching the blast on-screen like a director critiquing a take.

Law took two micro pods out of his side pocket and cracked the seals with practiced ease. A dense, translucent fog unfurled, slow and dramatic, that crept across the pavement, engulfing the darkness with a blanket of white.

Law walked through it slowly, eyes fixated on Wes, the vapor wrapping him in a ghostly halo.

As he emerged through the veil, Wes had his hand over his mouth as if he was trying to stifle his laugh.

“A motto we’ll always live by, yeah?” Law said, letting the smoke part around him. “Cool guys don’t look back.”

Wes smiled a beat longer, then let it fall as if it’d betrayed him. He flexed his jaw, glare hardening.

“What do you want?” Wes asked, his voice like gravel. “I said don’t follow me.”

Law stopped a few feet away. “I want to apologize.”

“Yeah?” Wes scoffed, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Hell, I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve apologized. I’m not interested in hearing another.”

Law stayed still. Took the jabs.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said quietly. “But we could parlay this into something beneficial…if we do it together.”

Wes scowled. “Are you listening to yourself? This isn’t a stunt gig. You’ve dropped us into a real fuckin’ war zone. Did you ever think for one goddamn second that we might get shot, or killed?”

Law didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Wes turned, and Law caught him in the crook of his elbow.

For a second, Wes hesitated. Their foreheads were pressed together, the heat of the blast behind them.

“I love you,” Law breathed. “And I know you probably don’t believe it, but I am sorry.”

Wes shut his eyes.

“Let me come home with you,” he whispered.

After a long, suffocating moment, Wes shook his head and pulled away.

He let him go.

Wes climbed in his truck, and without a word…slammed the door and drove off.

Law stood there until Wes’s taillights disappeared around the curved road.

This time, he didn’t chase after him, but he wasn’t giving up either.